


#10: You Only Get One Chance to Notice a New Haircut

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Natasha has a sense of humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint sees it, he just doesn't notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#10: You Only Get One Chance to Notice a New Haircut

Clint noticed things. It was part of his job, after all, to notice the details others skimmed over or didn’t see. He just didn’t always register things that his brain labelled as ‘unimportant’ or ‘save for later.’ It got noticed, it got processed, and it got filed away for later review if it wasn’t directly mission (or food. Or archery. Or Phil) related. 

So, it wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed Natasha’s new haircut, it’s just that it didn’t really process it between the mission planning, no-bake cookie day in the commissary, combat piloting drill for his recertifications, more briefings for the mission they were headed out on the next morning, and double checking all of his gear for damage before heading out in the field; it fell back into that place in his brain that said ‘not important.’

He realized his mistake about two weeks after they returned from the successful mission, intel everything the analysists could ask for, bad guy neatly dead. It always took a few days for all of them to come down off a mission and fully relax again, and apparently, Natasha had bided her time.

Clint got out of the shower, got dressed, and fixed his coffee like it was any other day. His first meeting wasn’t until ten, so he had time to putter around his flat, munching on toast and drinking coffee. His hair was dry by the time he ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth before leaving, and he froze when caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror.

His hair was lime green. 

He didn’t count himself a vain person, but the color did absolutely nothing for him, and he knew it would be even worse under the industrial florescent lights of HQ, which he had no doubt was the intent of whoever had – spiked his shampoo was the best he could figure. 

Natasha was perched on his kitchen counter, looking smug, when he emerged.

“Really?” he asked, the pieces sliding together with a mental ‘click.’

She hopped off the counter with a grin. “It’ll wash out in six weeks or so,” she said cheerfully. She picked up his keys and spun them around her index finger, and Clint picked up his messenger bag (Kevlar, finger print coded, RFID chipped in lieu of a briefcase) and followed her out the door.

“Wanna tell me what I did?” he asked.

“You didn’t say anything about my new haircut,” she said, leading the way to the boring grey sedan he’d checked out from the motor pool the night before (he’d been tired, it’d been raining, and he hadn’t wanted to walk). 

“Jesus, Nat, that was three weeks ago!”

“Which is why the dye will wash out in six.”


End file.
